


(don’t) call me when you’re sober

by thunderylee



Category: KAT-TUN (Band), Kanjani8 (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, M/M, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-12
Updated: 2009-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-31 05:29:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12675345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: With Ueda, Ryo can be himself without saying a word.





	(don’t) call me when you’re sober

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck.

Fucking hair in his eyes.

Ryo blows it out but it keeps coming back, too short to tuck behind his ears and too long to look up without nearly poking his eyes out.

It’s probably the first time he’s wished he could rock pigtails like the man sitting next to him, who responds to his frustrated grumbling with a sharp poke in the arm and a scrunchie in the face. It’s a girl’s scrunchie, frilly and pink unlike the neutral rubber bands tying the other’s own hair back on each side, and Ryo doesn’t even bother wondering how it came to be in his possession.

He’s given up trying to figure out this one.

The rain’s pouring down but it’s not impeding him much, only his hair, unstyled and frizzy but dry under the cover on his fire escape. He’s not in any state to care about his appearance right now; impressing everyone is the _last_ thing on his mind on a very rare night off. He grabs the scrunchie without hesitation and twists his bangs on top of his head, instantly relaxing his forehead now that there’s no threat of pain.

As he touches his lips with the bottle, too empty for his liking, he grunts his thanks.

Ueda remains still, staring straight ahead into the night. It’s nothing exciting, just the alley behind Ryo’s apartment, other fire escapes just like his own on the building across the street. Out of his peripheral vision Ryo thinks the older man isn’t actually looking at anything specific, more like something unseen or whatever memory is playing behind his eyes.

If he’s being honest with himself, which usually becomes easier with each beer, Ueda fascinates him. That might even be the real reason that Ryo invites him over, just a quick mail earlier in the day when he looks ahead in his schedule and can justify staying up late drinking. Even when he can’t justify it but _needs_ it, not in the way an alcoholic needs a drink but in the way a man needs to relax, sit on the fire escape with a buddy and throw back a few. Ueda doesn’t always show up, but more often than not a knock will sound on Ryo’s door well into the evening after sending the mail.

He doesn’t remember how it began, probably someone’s party years ago. Jin’s or Koki’s or even some girl they both know, it’s not important now. Ueda’s not one for social graces and Ryo was dead on his feet, both conned into attending by _someone_ and ended up outside ignoring them all. They didn’t speak, just a acknowledging nod, but when Ueda braved the crowd to get another drink he had brought back one for Ryo as well.

They’d clinked bottles, toasting to nothing but their mutual understanding, unspoken but strong nonetheless. The reason he tells himself he enjoys Ueda’s company is because he doesn’t talk, doesn’t need anything from him other than a place to park his ass and maybe a cigarette or two. For his birthday every year Ueda orders him a carton, unknown by anyone but them, so he supposes it evens out.

It’s kind of amusing to think that if he ever quit smoking, Ueda would have to be one of the first people he told. Ryo wonders what Ueda would get for him instead, probably nothing. He doesn’t think he’s ever gotten Ueda anything, he doesn’t have to. They don’t have that kind of friendship of obligations.

Ryo wouldn’t call him a friend. Yamapi is his friend. Uchi is his friend. On some days Jin is even his friend. He doesn’t see Ueda in the same way he sees any of the others, the kind of person he’d go to when he wanted to talk or rant or cry. Ueda’s presence doesn’t help him remember or forget. If anything he is free to think, unlimited in the possibilities because of the compromise that usually happens in conversation with another person. Ryo has pondered scientific theories, dreamed up song lyrics he’ll never write, and imagined his life in numerous alternate universes while sitting on this fire escape with this person.

Tonight he’s thinking about Ueda. He’s pretty sure that they wouldn’t get on if they actually spoke, tried to get to know each other. Thanks to their line of work, Ryo already knows enough to come to this conclusion on his own. They’re not into the same music or trends and Ueda probably wouldn’t like it if Ryo told him he can’t sing. Ryo doesn’t find anything about him particularly attractive although his hair isn’t too bad lately. And not that he _cares_ , but deep down he thinks Ueda is a coward for giving up leadership of KAT-TUN, because god knows they need it.

Ueda probably doesn’t think too highly of him either, but Ryo doesn’t really give a shit. He doesn’t need this guy’s approval, doesn’t care if his apartment isn’t clean when Ueda arrives or if Ueda has a problem with whatever music is playing on Ryo’s stereo. To his credit, Ueda has never shown him any kind of face other than the expressionless one on these nights; clearly Ryo’s private life is not weighing on his mind.

Ryo wonders if Ueda has a lot to think about, too. If Ueda gets the same satisfaction out of this that he does, just another person physically there to help shoulder whatever burden he has even without sharing his thoughts.

Silent support.

Ryo needs another beer. Either late night or early morning, whatever describes this time when Ryo is pleasantly buzzed and uncaring about pretty much anything. He starts to crawl back inside his apartment, noting the level of Ueda’s bottle and hoping he’ll remember to bring back two. In his deep thinking, he missteps on the window ledge and nearly falls on his nose, but the hand on the back of his shirt keeps him up and for a second Ryo feels like he’s levitating.

Maybe it’s time to go to bed. His mind is spinning and he wants to laugh, maybe he would if he were with anyone else, but at this place with this person he just rights his footing and tries not to lose his balance when he stands up. A rustling behind him signals Ueda following, grabbing the empty bottle from his hand and tossing them in the trash with a defined clang. Ryo watches in disinterest for a second, then manages to stumble into the kitchen where he pours a glass of water.

Without thinking, he pours two. He doesn’t offer the extra, just leaves it on the counter as he attempts to walk to his room without spilling and finds it impossible in his current state. He leans on the kitchen table and downs the whole glass, setting it down with a careless bang before continuing the journey down the hall like a ping-pong ball, bouncing from one wall to the other until he finally ends up falling through his doorway and onto something soft and welcoming.

As he passes out, he considers this a big success. It’s not often that he actually makes it all the way to his bed, usually halfway down the hallway and sometimes even sitting straight up on the fire escape, where Ueda will leave him because he’s not Ryo’s mother and he is unconcerned with Ryo’s comfort while sleeping.

Only once Ryo has woken up to find Ueda still on his couch, sleeping peacefully with the afghan his sister made for him when he moved out, but he was gone by the time Ryo got out of the shower to go to work. Ryo doesn’t mind that he stays uninvited, would rather he sleep here than drive drunk, and he might have even started setting out a spare pillow and blankets before his doorstep is darkened on these nights.

In the morning, the blankets are folded neatly on the opposite end of the couch than they originally were and the glass is hanging upside-down on the dish rack drying. There’s no awkward small talk or good-bye, nothing to tide them over until the inevitable next time.

And Ryo feels great.


End file.
